


The Electric Spin

by basset_voyager



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February 2017, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 13:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10163825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basset_voyager/pseuds/basset_voyager
Summary: Filling in at the Electric Spin had been an unexpected development.[AU where Farah is a bouncer and Amanda's in a punk band]





	

**Author's Note:**

> a short for FemFeb 2017, originally posted on my blog [here](http://breha.tumblr.com/post/157110348000/princessparadoxical-said-always-down-for-more).

It was definitely Todd’s fault.

The Electric Spin was a club carved out of a gutted laundromat on the outskirts of town, the kind of place with no sign on its door or address on its website, but a packed house every night all the same. Amanda loved it: the neon piping in the ceiling, the black paint on the floor in the process of being scuffed back to white tile by hundreds of feet, the row of still-working washers and dryers behind the stage that they let the staff and bands use. Each one was named for someone famous who had played there, and they said that if you washed your gig jacket in one of them, it would be lucky forever.

This is where Todd’s total dickwashery came in: Amanda had reached into her backpack to get her jacket and felt the frayed collar of Todd’s instead. Had he somehow mixed them up? Doing laundry at her house in the dark, maybe. That would be so Todd. Sure enough, when she pulled the jacket out, instead of her “No Spoons, No Masters” patch, there was Todd’s shitty Dead Kennedys pin. Amanda kicked the air, which hurt - her knees were not great today - and sat down on Martin’s guitar amp.

“What’s up and down, Mando?” Vogel asked. He squatted down next to her, bouncing steadily on the balls of his feet.

She waved him off. “Nothing.”

Suddenly, Cross, Martin, and Gripps appeared around her like they’d risen out of the stage floor.

“Is something bothering you?” Cross said. “'Cause I’ll kick it. In the face!” He struck a karate pose and kicked the air to illustrate, complete with an enthusiastic “hiiii-yah!” Amanda couldn’t help smiling.

“I’m fine. I just don’t have my jacket,” she explained. “I wanted to wash it before the show.”

“Ah, you don’t need that luck,” said Martin.

“We’re already in the flow,” said Gripps.

Vogel nodded. “Word.”

Amanda’s phone buzzed: Todd. She picked it up and walked over to sit on her drum stool. “Dude, did you take my jacket?”

There was someone else talking in the background, so at first it was difficult to make out what Todd was saying.

“Yeah - I mean, no, it wasn’t me. Dirk switched them. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. But I - look, I just need to - I have it and I’m outside but this lady won’t let me in and…honestly, I think she’ll punch me if I try to go around the back.”

Amanda jumped off her stool probably faster than was wise. She ran to the front door and stuck her head out. There was Todd, looking sheepish with the jacket in hand as he argued with an absurdly beautiful girl. When Todd had said “lady,” Amanda had expected some kind of middle-aged person. This woman was Todd’s age or maybe younger, and everything about her was, well. All Amanda’s dumb gay brain could come up with was “symmetrical.” The collar of her button-up sat crisply over the lapels of her unadorned leather jacket, which led to her military-square shoulders and her regular, serious face. Even her hair, which rose around her head like a storm cloud, gave the impression that not a piece of it had ever been out of place, possibly out of sheer willpower on her part. Amanda suddenly felt extremely self-conscious about her eyeliner being uneven.

“Hi,” Amanda said, or hoped she did. It might have come out more like “huh.”

“Hello,” replied the symmetrical girl. “I’m filling in for Bud as bouncer until 8:00, and Mr. Park specifically told me not to let anyone in until the doors open for the show.” She spoke a little too fast, as if she’d prepared the words ahead of time and just wanted to get through them without fucking up. It wasn’t what Amanda would have expected her to sound like.

“Yeah, but I’m just trying to give my sister her jacket,” Todd argued.

The girl opened her mouth to speak, clearly about to restart a debate she and Todd had been having for who knows how many minutes, but Amanda interrupted.

“Look, I’ll just take the jacket, okay? Todd doesn’t have to come in.”

Amanda tried not to grin as the girl wrinkled her nose and considered this.

“…Okay, fine.”

“Yessss.” Amanda plucked her jacket out of Todd’s hand. “Thank you so much, dude. You’re my favorite brother.”

She turned to go back inside, then, suddenly overcome with confidence - maybe from the luck she was about to get washing her jacket - she turned back.

“Are you gonna stay and watch the band?” she asked.

The symmetrical girl stared at her. “Me?”

“Yeah, obviously you. Come on, we’ll give you a free t-shirt. I’m Amanda, the drummer.”

In her peripheral vision, she could see Todd rolling his eyes. As if he had any flirting skills beyond bragging about being an a band. Ha!

“Farah,” replied the girl, offering her hand for Amanda to shake. Farah. Amanda shook her hand, trying her best to look cool, then made sure to stick out her tongue at Todd behind Farah’s back before she retreated back into the club. It would be sound check soon, and they wanted to make sure things were loud to enough to damage everyone’s hearing permanently. 

**

Filling in at the Electric Spin had been an unexpected development. Farah and Bud had worked together on a security team about five years ago, and they still kept in contact to trade tactics and advice. He’d called at 09:00 to ask if she could help him out: his cat was sick, and he needed to take her to the vet, so he wouldn’t be able to make it to work until 20:00. After a few minutes of mentally adjusting her plan for the day, she’d agreed. Bud was her friend, maybe. You were supposed to be there for friends. Probably.

The sad guy with the jacket had also been unexpected, as was his drummer sister with the chipped nail polish - Amanda.

“Roll with the punches,” Farah muttered to the sidewalk. “Be ready for anything.” Even messy punks who offered you a t-shirt and invited you to their show out of nowhere. Farah could go to a punk show. She was cool. Cool and relaxed. Relaxed and cool. Definitely.

Over the last hour or so, the line outside the door had grown until it curved around the block out of Farah’s sight. Amanda’s band must be popular, she realized. Everybody wore jackets with studs and had various types of jewelry on - in - their faces. People laughed and jostled each other as they waited to get in, giving the line a party-like feeling in itself. The audience had been flowing steadily into the club since 7:30, and Farah couldn’t imagine that the place could hold that many more people.

Farah checked her watch. Bud was two minutes late. Three minutes. Three and a half.

“Hey, sorry.”

She turned and found herself staring at a black t-shirt. There he was, finally - all 6′6′’ of him. She took a step back so she could see his face without looking up.

“Thanks for filling in for me, Farah. Anastasia’s fine, she just ate something she shouldn’t have and I panicked.” He shrugged his giant shoulders and looked sheepish. A lot of people were looking sheepishly at her today. Well, except Amanda, who had smiled as if Farah were an old friend.

Farah put her hand on Bud’s elbow. “I’m glad Anastasia’s okay. I think I might stay for the show.” 

  


  


The inside of the club was humid and packed with people, the kind of crowd that made Farah reach into her jacket for her knife just to hold onto something solid. She edged her way towards the stage to get a better look at the band, which seemed about to start. There were four men - maybe; it was probably not right to assume - and, tucked in the back with her drums, Amanda. She looked completely at home, spinning one of her drumsticks in her hand as she laughed at something the guitar player had said.

As much of a hush as could be expected fell over the crowd as the frontman stepped up to the microphone. He didn’t have an instrument, although he was, nonsensically, holding a wiffle ball bat.

“We are the Rowdy Three!” he screamed. “Let’s get rowdy!”

Farah tried to yell to the person next to her - _there are five of them!_ \- but Amanda’s drums drowned out her voice.

It was unlike anything Farah had ever experienced. The band was a wall of noise that lifted her up and carried her away. They seemed not to care about anything as plebeian as genre; they were punk one moment, funk the next, and, for one memorable song, genuinely classical. It turned out the wiffle ball bat was for punting various objects into the audience, mostly hats and small stuffed animals. (Farah was certain she also saw at least one dildo that almost hit somebody in the eye.) She danced until she could barely breathe, and she felt, for the first time in a long time, not afraid of anything.

**

After the first set, Amanda pulled her hair into a ponytail and wandered over to the bar for a beer. She kept an eye out for Todd and Dirk, but, knowing them, they were probably either arguing or making out in a corner somewhere, neither of which she felt much like getting in the middle of. Someone pushed a side door open, and a gust of cool air blew over the back of Amanda’s neck. Man, she wanted a cigarette. The adrenaline of performing was still buzzing through her body, and her hands shook slightly as she pushed open the door and reached into her pocket for her lighter.

A few other people were smoking in the alley, and there, leaning against the wall by the trash cans, was the lovely bouncer from earlier. Farah. She had one of the hats Martin liked to bat into the crowd in her hand. It was Amanda’s favorite of the bunch they’d bought from the secondhand store that afternoon - green with the words WOMEN WANT ME, FISH FEAR ME embroidered on the front. Farah seemed slightly bemused by it.

“So, what do you think of the music?” Amanda asked, and Farah jumped in surprise. Amanda exhaled a cloud of smoke and grinned at her.

Farah smiled too, and Amanda’s stomach jumped a little bit. She had an asymmetrical smile. Her hands moved in wide circles to emphasize her words. “It’s - it’s awesome - it’s brilliant. Your organizational structure and artistic personality make no sense, of course, but I had - fun. Thanks for asking me to come.” 

Amanda laughed. “You’re so weird.”

This made Farah frown. “No, I’m not.”

“I mean that in a good way.”

“Oh.”

They both looked at their shoes. Then Amanda said “Listen - ” at the same time that Farah said “I should - ” 

“You go first,” Farah said.

“Do you want to go get a milkshake after this? I know a really cool 24-hour diner and I think you’re really cool so. You should go…there. With me.” Amanda tried not to visibly cringe at her own utter awkwardness.

Farah seemed not to notice. She smiled again. “Yeah, okay.”

**

Amanda smelled like cigarettes or incense or maybe both. She let Farah listen to her favorite Bikini Kill album with her headphones and talked about her brother and her friends a lot, but didn’t seem to think it was weird that Farah didn’t have anyone to talk about except her fish.

“Dude, you have a _betta fish_? That’s so cool. Don’t they like, fight all the time?

“They’re misunderstood.”

Farah felt Amanda’s hand slip into hers and realized that she was probably fucking up her entire schedule for tomorrow by being out this late. She also realized that she didn’t much care. For once, she felt like going with the flow.


End file.
